Power Hungry
by elbcw
Summary: A stout older man stepped into Porthos' view. He said quietly, 'I want your comrade to deliver a message to your Captain…he does not have to be alive to do so. If you do not stop your pathetic struggle I will kill him…painfully…I can kill him in such a way that it will take him hours to die. Do you understand me'
1. Chapter 1

Authors note: This is a companion piece (for want of a better description) to 'Rings' which I wrote a while ago. It explains what happened before, during and after that. If you have not read 'Rings' wait until the end chapter four. I will remind you.

Power Hungry

Chapter One

'Please…I didn't know…it…it was only just over the border…'

'You were on my land, my property, you are ungrateful, I am your Lord.'

'Please, sir, we won't stray onto your property again.'

'Please…let us go.'

The Comte looked at the two young men before him, he nodded to the big man holding the older one. The man grinned and hauled the young man round and started moving his struggling captive forward.

The other one, his younger brother, was being held by another of the Comte's men. The young man, not much more than a boy, realised what was happening. He started screaming and shouting at the Comte, begging the nobleman to release them. The Comte did not react, he watched, impassively, as the older brother was forced towards his doom. The young man fought for all he was worth. But he was a peasant. He was scrawny and weak. They both were. He could not fight back against the Comte's man.

'Jean…' screamed the younger one, tears streaming down his face. The Comte wondered if the boy thought he might be next. Was his fear for his brother or himself?

The older one was still struggling, he was grabbing at the face of Gagnet, who shrugged off the pathetic attempt to escape his iron grip. There would be no chance of escape, Jean's fate was sealed. The Comte watched, without any thought for the pain he would be causing to the family who would soon be short a son.

They had strayed onto his land, they knew the rules. The tenants were strictly forbidden from entering his private estate. Now one of the two had to be punished. He would allow the younger one, Luc, to go. If the family lost two sons, they might not be able to work their small farm and raise money for their rent. That would be counterproductive. But killing one of them sent a message to all his tenants. He was not a land owner to be disobeyed.

'No…please…'

Gagnet had manoeuvred the young man to the edge of the slope now, a quick firm shove and the man slipped over. The Comte took a couple of steps forward. He watched as the man flailed around then lost his footing. He grabbed at the sloping sides but could not find a purchase, he slid down inexorably towards the hole. He screamed the whole way down scrabbling to stop his decent, his legs slipped through then his body and with a satisfying thud he hit the floor of the cell below, which would be his tomb.

No one had ever escaped the Comte's oubliette. He reserved it as a special punishment for people who particularly annoyed him. He enjoyed the build-up, watching the realisation on the face of the victim. All the tenants knew of its existence. The only downfall was that once the man was in the oubliette there was nothing else he could do to him. There were other punishments that he preferred, when he wanted to be entertained. But this one, this sent out the message that he wanted. The younger brother would go back to his family and the other tenants and they would all know that he, Comte Vietto, was not a man to be challenged. His word was final. He was the man at the top.

And he wanted more.

MMMM

'He should rest, but you may speak to him for a little while your Majesty,' said the doctor as he gathered his things together. With a reverent bow, the man retreated from the lavish guest room.

The King approached the bed quickly, Treville was surprised by his obvious concern for the man who lay on it. At his approached the man tried to sit up, to stand and bow.

'No Alain, you are too badly injured, there is nobody here to see etiquette ignored.'

Once Treville realised who the injured man was his surprise diminished.

'I am sorry,' the pale man on the bed said.

'Do not be,' said the King who had perched himself on the edge of the bed and taken the man's hand in his own. Baron Doubey was the same age as the King, and they had frequently spent time together in their childhood. Doubey was a good man, Treville had once seen him help an old peasant who had fallen in the street. He was kind hearted and pleasant to everyone he met. Although he had quite a different personality to the King the two had become firm friends.

The King turned to Treville and beckoned him over. Perhaps now he would find out why he had been summoned to the Palace with no explanation. He approached the bed and stopped a respectable few paces away. Close enough for a spoken conversation but not so close as to be disrespectful to the monarch.

'This is Treville, you probably remember him, he is the captain of my Musketeers. I trust him with my life. He is going to sort this out,' the King turned to Treville, 'Alain was attacked, it is disgusting. He was attacked by a neighbouring Comte.'

Treville was beginning to understand where this was going and what part he was to play in it. The King continued.

'Alain was telling me that, this Comte…Vietto,' he looked to Doubey who nodded, 'has been hiring thugs, he appears to be building a small army of mercenaries. It is clear this man wants more power than he has a right to.'

The young Baron continued, 'he is ruthless monsieur, I have seen what he has done to his tenants. He took out the eye of a pretty young girl because she happened to see him when he was assaulting one of his servants…he shot a poor farmers horse because it did not move out of his way quick enough…'

'How did you come to be attacked?' asked Treville taking another couple of steps forward.

The Baron was very pale, his left arm had been placed in a sling and his face was covered with bruises. From what he had gathered from the doctor when he arrived, the man had been beaten with sticks. He had broken ribs and a badly broken arm that would probably never heal properly.

'I wanted to put a stop to what he was doing. I decided to report his wickedness to the King. But I thought it only right that I told Vietto what I was going to do…I hoped it might curb his ill will towards his tenants…' he trailed off for a few seconds, fatigue beginning to catch up with him, 'he had two of his men beat me. I honestly thought they were going to kill me…my man servant managed to get me away, we arrived at the palace a few hours ago.'

'And now you will rest. I will see to it that this is sorted out,' said the King firmly. He gently let go of the Baron's hands. Treville had rarely seen such tenderness from the man.

'Your Majesty,' said Treville, 'I will prepare my men and we will leave at first light.'

The King nodded his approval saying, 'thank you Treville, I can trust you to sort this out. I want this Comte arrested and returned to Paris. I want him to be punished correctly. It will send a message to any other lower nobles who think that they are above the law.'

Treville was impressed with the Kings maturity, it was clear he wanted the issues dealt with and dealt with swiftly. Treville bowed and left the room. He returned to the garrison as quickly as he could.

MMMM

Treville had given instructions that they were to leave at first light. The Musketeers were well trained and had no difficulty preparing themselves. Athos oversaw the organisation. Some men had added responsibilities, Athos watched as Aramis and Barbotin disappeared into the infirmary to pack medical supplies. D'Artagnan, who had a natural affinity with the horses was working with the stable boys, checking the tack and chivvying them along when the young lads began to flag.

Porthos had been sent out to round up any of the men who were not in the garrison. Athos knew Porthos could be persuasive, and would bring back any wayward men who thought that being off duty meant they could not be recalled if necessary.

Once the preparations were done they gathered together. Treville stood on the steps to address them. He explained the situation, and what they were to do. The men listened attentively, Athos glanced around and noted that all the men were present. He nodded to Porthos who smirked, Athos knew he had enjoyed collecting the missing men.

Treville concluded his instructions, 'we have a few hours before dawn, get some rest, we have a full day's ride ahead of us.'

As the men dispersed Athos approached Treville who held up his hand before Athos could speak, 'I know what you are going to say, some of the men are very fresh faced…but this is what the King wants and this is what we will do. They have their commissions and we would not have allowed them to become Musketeers if we didn't think them capable.'

Athos nodded, 'I am sure they will be fine, but I think we should try to keep the newly commissioned men under careful supervision.'

Treville nodded, 'I will make a Captain of you yet.'

MMMM

Thirty mounted Musketeers leaving the garrison at dawn caused a bit of a stir amongst the early rising Parisians. They moved out of the way quickly and gaped and stared at the men as they rode passed. D'Artagnan always felt a swell of pride when they were revered by the people of Paris. He could not help smiling as they rode out of the city.

'You do know we're going out to fight a bunch of mercenaries. It's not a parade,' said Porthos as they left the city and the attention of the locals.

'Yes, but it makes a change not to be looked at with suspicion or fear.'

'Good point,' conceded his friend.

They rode on for several hours. Only stopping when the horses needed to be rested. Each man leading his horse up to a shallow stream to allow the beast to drink its fill. As the horses cooled the men ate a simple meal. Each of the musketeers had been provided with provisions for the journey.

Once they reached a site to camp they would be able to enjoy a cooked meal. Although as Aramis had pointed out they would only enjoy the meal if the men preparing it knew what they were doing. It was well known amongst the men that some of their number were not as good at preparing food as others. Porthos had chuckled, knowing Aramis meant him and a couple of the others. One of the newly commissioned musketeers had looked at Aramis confused until Aramis had told him quietly that they were fairly sure it was a deliberate act to get out of preparing food. The new musketeer had looked shocked. Porthos had laughed out loud.

D'Artagnan noticed Athos and Treville talking at the edge of the group, they had finished eating and the horses were ready to continue. Athos walked over to him.

'We think it will be quite late when we arrive, we will need to set up camp quickly,' he said, 'can you see to the horses for the group, pick another couple of men to help you…ones that can deal with them quickly and calmly. There will be a lot of activity getting this many men settled and the more organised we are before we arrive the better.'

D'Artagnan nodded. When they resumed their journey, he approached one of the men, who like him, was used to dealing with livestock.

'Pierre,' he said getting the young man's attention, 'will you help with the horses when we make camp.'

Pierre nodded, d'Artagnan noticed the young man looked apprehensive. His pauldron was still shining and had no marks on it. The young man was one of their newest commissioned Musketeers. D'Artagnan smiled to himself remembering the mixture of pride and fear he had dealt with when he had been commissioned. It had felt like a sudden weight of responsibility, but it was a weight he was pleased to bear.

'You'll be fine. There are lots of us here. Just remember your training and follow orders,' said d'Artagnan, who thought it odd that he was giving advice to a man who was probably only a few months younger than himself.

Pierre nodded and smiled, some relief showing on his face.

They rode through Baron Doubey's estate and found a suitable spot to camp on the border between the Baron and Comte's land. It was wooded, and therefore secluded with a clearing big enough to build a fire and enough space between the nearby trees for the musketeers to set out their bedrolls and another couple of smaller fires. Some areas of the surrounding woodland were thick, with bushes and trees growing closely together.

D'Artagnan watched as Athos approached Aramis and Porthos, he spoke to them for a few minutes. Porthos made a few dramatic gestures and Aramis laughed at him. They gathered their weapons and wandered off out of the camp. Athos watching them go as d'Artagnan walked up to him.

'What was that about?'

'I just sent them off on the first watch for sentry duty. Porthos was pretending it was unfair…although I think he was just pleased he was not being steered towards the camp fire and the cooking.'

D'Artagnan laughed, 'who has second watch, I'm happy to do it?'

'Barbotin volunteered with Hamon…although, again, I think it was to get out of the cooking.'

MMMM

They walked away from the camp amiably. It was a cool evening, not cold, but cool enough that they were glad to be active. It was also pleasant to stretch their legs after a long day in the saddle. As seasoned soldiers, they were used to the activity that went on and the apprehension the younger men would be feeling. Porthos was glad to be away from all the organised chaos for a few hours. They would patrol for four or five hours before heading back in to awaken Barbotin and Hamon.

As they left the noise of the camp behind they found a pathway, probably created by locals that roughly skirted the camp, it made sense to follow it round, rather than having to pick their way through the undergrowth of the thicker parts of the wood.

Aramis was a few paces ahead of Porthos when he tripped over. He went down hard, but Porthos did not have time to react. Two men had grabbed him, one on either side. They were big, strong men. One of them was taller than Porthos, the other was as broad as a tree and despite his best efforts he could not shake them off. He was about to shout but a third man pushed a rag into his mouth and tied it firmly in place, muffling any noise he could make.

He looked down at Aramis and was shocked to see his friend still flat on the ground with two more big men holding him there, one was kneeling across his back. Porthos knew the marksman would be struggling to breathe with the weight on his back. Aramis was trying to move but his attempts were ineffectual.

The man who had gagged Porthos was now behind him and dragging his arms back and efficiently binding them. The rope used was tied firmly. His weapons belt was removed. Porthos continued to pull against his captors.

A stout older man stepped into Porthos' view. He said quietly, 'I want your comrade to deliver a message to your Captain…he does not have to be alive to do so. If you do not stop your pathetic struggle I will kill him…painfully…I can kill him in such a way that it will take him hours to die. Do you understand me?'

Porthos stilled, the man in front of him smirked. He turned to the men holding Aramis and nodded. With renewed force, they grabbed the now weakly struggling man's arms and pulled them back, binding them in much the same way as Porthos had been. They also put ropes around his knees and ankles. His weapons belt was undone and forcefully pulled away from him. He was pulled over onto his side. Porthos watched as Aramis tried to take the first full breath he had been allowed in a few minutes only to be gagged as he opened his mouth. The men then dragged Aramis a couple of meters towards the exposed root of a big tree. They tied him to it, firmly, and left him lying on his side still struggling for breath.

Porthos managed to make eye contact with Aramis, who, despite his own predicament looked concerned. When Aramis saw Porthos he started pulling at his restraints and tried to shout through the gag. The man who had spoken to Porthos crouched down next to Aramis and said something to him, Porthos did not know what. But Aramis became quiet. The man tucked a sealed letter into Aramis' doublet. As this was being done the man who had gagged and restrained Porthos was hanging both of their weapons belts up on a tree branch near where Aramis lay.

Porthos was pulled around and forced to walk away, he managed to glance behind and saw Aramis watching him, his shoulders still heaving as has he tried to get his breath back.

MMMM

Authors note: I hope you enjoyed the start. The next chapter will go up tomorrow, probably a bit later as I out in the morning (UK time) running (that's a joke!) the Winchester Half Marathon.


	2. Chapter 2

Authors note: A little later than yesterday, but half marathons wait for no man (or woman), tomorrows chapter will probably be a little earlier, just to keep you on your toes!

Thanks for all the reviews, follows, favourites.

Chapter Two

Treville had not slept well, he had not expected to. He had to plan what they were going to do. How they were going to deal with this nobleman who clearly had ideas above his station. The King had related to Treville all that Baron Doubey had told him. There was talk of a dungeon and the Comte was said to use an oubliette to kill anyone who he particularly disliked. The King was insistent that the Comte be arrested and brought to justice. The King had intimated that he would use his power as monarch to strip the nobleman of his title so that he could be tried as a commoner. Treville had to admit he thought the King was making a good decision.

But first they had to arrest Comte Vietto. From what they had learned from Doubey there were at least forty mercenaries in the employ of the Comte. Thirty musketeers would be an easy match for these men, Treville was sure. What they did need was intelligence about the Comte's estate. For that he planned a covert visit to the tenants. They needed to talk to the local people, the people who were being so badly mistreated by their landlord.

As he sat, musing Athos approached him with Barbotin and d'Artagnan. They all looked concerned.

'Neither Porthos or Aramis returned from sentry duty,' said Athos.

Treville was on his feet in a second and looking around the camp. He knew Athos and the others would have done a cursory search, but he could not help looking for the missing men. His mind was already whirling ahead, he was trying not to think of the possibilities.

'We'll search for them, quietly, I do not want to cause alarm or unnecessary worry…there could be a simple explanation,' said Treville.

The moved off, subtly, into the woods to search for the missing men.

MMMM

Athos and Treville followed the route they expected Aramis and Porthos to have taken the previous night. A circular loop around the camp about one hundred meters away. D'Artagnan and Barbotin were working their way around in the other direction.

Athos hoped that nothing had happened, but he was not optimistic. They were close enough to the Comte's chateau that the reason for their friends' disappearance was probably related to the vile man.

They had nearly covered half the distance when something caught his eye, 'look,' he said, indicating to Treville what he had seen.

'It looks like their weapons, hanging on a branch…'

Treville trailed off, looking hard, he gasped, then rushed forward. Athos followed trying to work out what Treville had seen. He only had to move a few paces to see Aramis lying on his side by the trunk of the tree. He was firmly bound and gagged.

Treville had reached the bound man who was struggling and trying to speak through the gag. Treville pulled the gag from Aramis mouth. The marksman tried to speak again but just ended up coughing. Athos pulled out a knife and started to work on releasing his friend.

Aramis managed to swallow and then said croakily, 'they took him…it must have been the Comte.'

They looked over as d'Artagnan and Barbotin joined them. Treville indicated to Barbotin to hand over his water skin. As Athos was still cutting Aramis free, Treville held the skin to the marksman's lips and helped him to take a couple of sips.

'There were too many of them,' Aramis said, when he had finished drinking, 'we were totally taken by surprise…' he looked over to his right, 'I think they put a rope over there to trip whoever walked passed…I fell, and they grabbed us…I'm sorry…'

Athos had freed the marksman's arms and helped him to straighten up a bit, then cut the remaining ropes around his legs. Aramis was clearly stiff from being forced to stay in the same position for several hours in the cold. He was shivering a little, Athos was unsure if he was cold or in shock.

Aramis was trying to reach for something in his doublet, but could not get his hands to coordinate. He looked up at Treville and said, 'there's a letter, from the Comte, for you.'

Treville pulled the letter from Aramis doublet, he stood up and walked over to an area of the forest where the sun had penetrated the trees to read it. Athos held out the water skin to his friend again. With shaking hands Aramis took the skin, Athos resorted to keeping hold of the skin as well in case the recently liberated man dropped it.

Aramis stared off into the distance for a few moments then said, 'he told me to be quiet or they would kill him…he said if I was quiet until they were gone they wouldn't kill him,' Aramis paused looking at Athos and d'Artagnan before continuing, 'but he couldn't guarantee what state Porthos would be in when we found him.'

Athos glanced as d'Artagnan who looked as worried as Athos felt. Their friend had been taken by a sadistic, power hungry man who had already performed several vicious, and vindictive acts on his own tenants. What the Comte had said to Aramis made Athos' blood run cold.

'There's nothing you could've done,' said d'Artagnan reaching out to touch Aramis on the shoulder, 'don't blame yourself.'

'I'm not, it's just…' Aramis sighed, 'I'm really worried.'

Treville walked back to the little group surrounding Aramis. He handed the letter to Athos who read it. The others watching his face as he did so. When he had finished he looked at Treville confused.

'Is the man deranged? Does he actually think we will not be able to arrest him?'

Treville shook his head, he took the letter from Athos and re read it.

'What does it say?' asked d'Artagnan.

'The Comte seems to think that what he is doing, how he is treating his tenants and anyone who comes near him is perfectly fine. And that he has every right to do so,' replied Athos, 'he has essentially invited us to try and take him out. He wants us to attack so that he can show the rest of France what a superior tactician he is.'

'If he didn't have Porthos I would suggest an all-out assault on his chateau,' said Treville who glanced down at Aramis as he spoke, 'but we will have to include a rescue with our arrest strategy.'

Aramis was about to speak but Treville continued, 'yes Aramis, you will be the one allowed to go and get our man back. He may have been injured and you will be best qualified to deal with that. Barbotin is a capable field medic so he can keep an eye on the rest of the troops.'

Aramis looked grateful and nodded his thanks to both Treville and Barbotin. Athos noticed that Aramis was still shaking.

'Let's get back to the camp…I think you could do with some time by the fire,' said Athos.

He held out his hand to the marksman who reached up and grabbed it, allowing himself to be helped up. Once upright the colour drained from his face and he nearly crashed back down again. Athos grabbed him by the arm, with d'Artagnan grabbing his other arm a second later.

'Sorry,' said Aramis blinking.

'You were stuck there for several hours,' stated d'Artagnan.

Aramis managed a smile. After they were sure he was not going to topple over they let him go, although Athos remained close by as they walked back toward the camp.

MMMM

It did not take long for the rest of the Musketeers to realise they were missing a comrade. Porthos was a popular member of the troop and when the other soldiers saw Athos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan walk back into the camp without their usual fourth member there were murmurs of concern. Treville had shooed away those that got too close. He knew that Aramis was tired and cold and needed a bit of space to himself.

Aramis was grateful to his captain. Lying out in the open all night had left him chilled. He had thought about protesting when Athos had suggested that he should sit by the fire for a while, but he did feel cold and stiff. The position he had been left in was not comfortable, but he had been more concerned about Porthos than himself. As the night had worn on he had lost the feeling in his right arm from lying on it, but he could not move enough to get rid of the pins and needles he had felt creeping up.

Barbotin had given him a blanket when he had settled down by one of the fires in the camp. Aramis had taken it and reluctantly wrapped it around his shoulders. D'Artagnan appeared a few minutes later with some broth. He sat next to Aramis.

'Are you here to ensure I look after myself?'

'You know us so well…and we know you well,' replied d'Artagnan bumping shoulders with his friend.

'Thank you,' said Aramis as he sipped at the broth, he could feel its heat starting to warm him up.

'What was the Comte like?'

'I didn't actually see him for long, I was face down on the ground for most of the time. To be honest I was initially more concerned with trying to breathe…one of the men was leaning over me heavily…I couldn't make out what was going on until they dragged me over to the tree and he spoke to me...'

D'Artagnan said firmly, 'from what you have told us, there was nothing you could have done…I guess the way you were treated says something about the Comte. He seems to have no regard for anyone.'

They sat in silence for a few minutes as Aramis finished the broth.

'Treville wants a few of us to visit the locals and get information about the Comte,' he paused when Aramis looked at him, 'no you are not coming, Athos told me that if you try to come with us he will have you restrained.'

Aramis replied, 'I suppose he's right. I'm worried about Porthos, but I'm also very tired…and if we are to get him back we need to be prepared.'

As d'Artagnan stood to go he said, 'Porthos will be fine, I'm sure. We'll get him back. He just needs to hold on for a little bit.'

Aramis hoped that d'Artagnan was right.

MMMM

Porthos was roughly forced forward, the big men holding him not allowing him to look back at Aramis anymore. He knew his friend would be OK. It would be an uncomfortable night for Aramis, but he would be found. The others would know something had happened when they did not return in a few hours' time.

He wondered what the Comte had said to Aramis to make him stop struggling against the ropes binding him.

The men marching him away did not speak. The Comte walked ahead leading them across a field towards the imposing chateau. They walked through the large front door entering what would have been an elegant hall. But the elegance was ruined by the men lounging around. Several unruly looking men littered the hallway. As they passed an open door Porthos had a chance to glance inside. More men were within the room, the mercenaries were all big strong men. They looked capable and would be able to hold their own in a fight. Porthos wondered how many men there were.

'Take him down, and get him ready, I'll be there in a few minutes,' the Comte spoke for the first time since Porthos had been taken by the men.

As the Comte walked up a large staircase in the centre of the hall Porthos found himself being moved towards a door. He was bundled through and forced to walk down a flight of stairs. The elegance of the hallway did not reach beyond the door. The walls were rough stone. At the base of the stairs a man was standing by another doorway. This door was reinforced. It looked solid. The man produced a key from a ring hooked on his belt and unlocked the door. He pulled it open and stood back to allow the kidnappers to move their prisoner through.

Porthos had not been cooperating with the men holding him. They were having to virtually drag him now. Once they had been far enough away from Aramis, Porthos had struggled against the men, but it only earned him a thump from the broad man. He had changed his tactic after that and simply stopped walking.

They had entered what was clearly a dungeon. Barred cells lined the corridor. The men forced Porthos passed them all, towards the last door which stood open. He was bundled inside. The cell was lit by two flaming torches. In the flickering light Porthos saw a large table in the middle of the room. He did not have a chance to look around further as he was pushed forward and pinned to the opposite wall. He was surprised when the men cut the ropes from his wrist.

His initial thought was to fight the men now that his arms were free. He was not given the chance. Four of the men pulled him towards the table forcing him onto it. He was forced to lie on the table on his back, he tried pulling away from the men but they held him down firmly. The man who had gagged him earlier was still there. He stood at the end of the table sneering at Porthos. The man was quite weedy compared to the big men holding him down.

Porthos could not help renewing his attempts to fight the men holding him when the small weedy man produced a knife and began slicing the leather of his doublet.

MMMM

The man stopped his oxen, his foot still resting on the plough, as Athos walked up to him. As with the other tenants that he had spoken with the man viewed Athos with suspicion. Once it became clear to the tenant that he was a musketeer and not one of Vietto's men the farmer was more than happy to speak to him.

'We would all be grateful to be rid of him,' said the man. He was a little older than Athos but very thin, almost malnourished. Athos wondered how the man managed to work the fields.

'Can you tell me anything about his chateau? Any information would be useful to us.'

'One of the men who was taken there, he died a few weeks ago, he was beaten so badly, he told us about the dungeon.'

Athos urged the man to continue with a nod.

'He said that when he was taken down there a man was guarding the door, he opened it with a key he had on him. They put him in a cell and left him for a couple of days then returned and beat him. He was in a bad way when they let him go. He said the dungeon had a second door, one that led straight outside, the door only opened from the inside, the guard had taken great delight in opening it. He said that when he had been left for the two days they propped the outside door open…it was during the Winter…I don't know how he lasted for the two days, let alone survived the beating he received long enough to get back to his family.'

Athos sighed, the Comte was an evil man. He hated to think what Porthos was going through. With luck, they would not do anything to him, just use him as a hostage, but Athos did not think his friend would be that lucky.

'When are you going to arrest him?' asked the farmer.

'Soon,' replied Athos.

'I wish you good luck, I hope you have plenty of men. I've heard people say he has sixty. And they are all fierce. I've only seen a few but they scare me. My wife won't go near them.'

Athos thanked the man and walked away. They had originally thought they were dealing with forty men, but he had heard from the assorted peasants he had spoken to, numbers ranging from fifty to eighty. Treville would not be pleased by the news.

MMMM

The Comte entered Porthos' cell and nodded to the weedy looking man.

'Did he fight Andre?'

The weedy man responded, 'he did at first, but I think he knows now that there is no point.'

Andre sneered down at Porthos, who stared back as defiantly as he could. He did not feel particularly defiant. He was being held down firmly by the four mercenaries, he was naked and he had no idea what the Comte was going to do to him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest.

When Andre had pulled his boots off and proceeded to slice off all his clothes Porthos had tried pulling away, and shouting through the gag. The men holding him down had laughed and leaned harder on his arms and legs. He was helpless. And he hated it.

The Comte had returned divested of his jacket and had rolled up his shirt sleeves.

'Now, Andre, where shall we begin? The ankles I think.'

Porthos could not see what the Comte and his weedy friend were doing, he could not lift his head far enough. He felt a hand press on his ankle then a pain that felt like the skin on his ankle was being ripped off. He screamed. He could not help it. He tried to pull his leg away, but the thug holding him merely pushed down harder to keep him in place. His breathing quickened. The tugging at the skin on his ankle stopped, but the ache remained.

When the same pain happened, but slightly further up his leg he cried out again, the noise muffled by the gag. He realised he had tears running from his eyes. The pain was excruciating. But he still did not know what the Comte was doing to him.

The man was studying his prisoner, he nodded approvingly.

'Oh yes, I am going to enjoy this very much. Andre, another ring please,' said the Comte holding out his hand.

Andre passed something to the Comte who held it up briefly. Porthos got a glimpse of it before it disappeared from his sight. It looked like a metal ring.

The same tearing sensation, again, slightly further up his leg.

Porthos screwed his eyes shut, he wished he would pass out. He realised this was going to take some time. The Comte clearly wanted to inflict a lot of pain on him.

MMMM


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

D'Artagnan approached the farm cottage. A middle-aged woman was scattering seeds about her, a small brood of chickens surrounded her. A couple of cats watched from a window sill with interest. The woman looked up as D'artagnan greeted her.

'Madam,' he said, 'please do not be alarmed, I am not one of Vietto's men. I am a musketeer.'

He discreetly lifted the plain cloak he was wearing to show her his uniform. She did not look convinced and backed away a few paces.

'We've paid the rent sir,' she said, fear evident in her voice.

D'Artagnan put his arms out to the side to try to convince the woman that he was not a threat.

'It's OK Marie. He's telling the truth. I've seen them camped in the woods.'

A man, who d'Artagnan guessed was the woman's husband walked over from the direction of the musketeer's camp. He had the same fatigued look that his wife carried.

'Perhaps you would like to come in, we can talk in private. I would imagine you don't want your presence to be noticed if possible?'

'Thank you, monsieur, unfortunately our presence has already been noticed by the Comte, but, if we can prevent any further exposure I would appreciate it.'

The man led him into the small farmhouse. He indicated for D'Artagnan to sit at the table. The room was small but well appointed. The family had obviously worked hard to make the place pleasant. As he sat he looked across to the small hearth which contained a blazing fire. Next to the fire in the only cushioned chair in the room sat a young man, barely more than a boy. He was gazing into the fire. He had not reacted when d'Artagnan had entered the room. The young man had a pained faraway look in his eyes.

'Our son, Luc,' said the man, 'he was a victim of Vietto.'

D'Artagnan looked at the man, 'in what way? Any information that you can give us about the man could be vital.'

Marie had entered after her husband, she bustled around arranging drinks for the two men sat at the table. Once she had seen to them she knelt by the unresponsive youth and looked up at him with sorrow on her face.

'Paul,' she said softly to her husband, 'tell him everything. If it helps them to rid us of that man it can only be a good thing.'

D'Artagnan could hear the anger in her voice despite her attempts to hide it as she sat with Luc. D'Artagnan turned to Paul and indicated for him to speak.

'The boys, our two sons, Luc,' he glanced over at the boy by the fire, 'and…Jean, were out hunting for rabbits. We live quite close to Vietto's private estate. The tenants are not allowed on his land. But the border is not easily discernible. The boys strayed over the border.'

The man paused, he took a drink, his hands were shaking. After taking a couple of breaths, he continued.

'We only know what happened from Luc, he told us when he came back. He has not spoken since…they were caught by Vietto's men. They were taken to the chateau. Vietto accused them of stealing, poaching on his private estate. Of course, it was an accident, the boys going onto his land. But Vietto would not believe them…he wanted to make an example…he told them that they had to be punished…'

Marie sobbed quietly by the fire, gently holding her son's hands in hers, her head bowed. Paul looked over at them sadly, tears also in his eyes. D'Artagnan guessed what had happened, he hated having to ask but they needed all the information they could gather.

'Please tell me everything.'

Paul looked back at d'Artagnan and nodded, 'Jean was thrown into the oubliette…'

Marie cried again, covering her mouth with her hand. Paul rose from the table and walked around to her. He knelt by her and embraced her. Once she had composed herself she broke away from her husband and turned to d'Artagnan.

She said quietly, 'Luc and Jean are good boys, sir, Jean would do anything for his brother…Luc told us how Jean was pushed into the…the…' she paused, trying to regain her composure, 'oubliette, he tried to stop falling in, he tried to keep out of the cell…there's no way out of the cell…our boy…he.'

She buried her face in her hands again. Paul looked over to d'Artagnan.

'Vietto, has been evil since the moment he inherited the estate…his father was a good man, but he is not.'

Marie had looked up again, she looked at d'Artagnan, a fresh determination in her eyes.

'Luc said that the…the oubliette…was in a room near the kitchens. He said they were taken through the kitchens to get there…' she paused then said, 'please get that man to stop. He has brought nothing but pain and misery to us.'

'We will madam,' said d'Artagnan.

MMMM

It felt like he had been lying on the table for hours. The process of piercing his skin with the metal rings had continued. It must have taken some time as the four men who were holding him down were all relieved, one at a time by another mercenary. Although by now, Porthos did not think he could have fought off any of them anyway. They probably did not even need to hold him down any longer.

He was not sure if he had passed out at all, but he was definitely awake for most of his torture. The Comte had not stopped, he did not take a break. He was methodically inserting each ring then moving on to the next. Occasionally he would pause and look at him, as if to appraise his work.

The rings had been put on the sides of both his legs and his arms, carrying around to his shoulders. The Comte had pierced the skin on both sides of his torso, over his hips and up to his ribs. Porthos was in immense pain, but he could not fight it. He had just come to accept it.

'That will do I think,' said the Comte stepping back, he glanced over to the wall, 'did you find the pincers? I don't want the chains slipping off.'

Porthos did not want to think about what the Comte was saying. But his mind whirled none the less.

'All is prepared sir,' said Andre with another of his little sneers.

'Let's have him up and by the wall then, careful not to pull any of the rings off.'

The men holding him down, were now pulling him up and off the table. He did not fight them, he could not. They manhandled him into a standing position. He found himself able to stand, which surprised him, they forced him over to the wall of the cell.

In the flickering light of the torches Porthos could make out many short thin chains dangling from the wall, they were covering the wall from about head height to the floor. With a sickening feeling Porthos guessed what was going to happen next.

He was turned and his back was pushed against the wall.

'Hold him still,' said the Comte to the four men, 'this takes a bit of precision.'

The men holding him pushed him into the wall harder. The Comte stood to the right side of Porthos he was very close. Porthos could feel the man's breath on him. One of the rings on his arm was lift from where it lay over his skin, Porthos managed to look down at what the Comte was doing.

The thin chain was hooked over the gap in the ring and slid a little way around, the Comte held out his hand as Andre passed him a pair of jeweller's pinchers. He clinched the end of the chain to the ring, then gave it a gentle tug to ensure the chain would not move. Porthos eyed up the dozens of rings that were now attached to his body. The implications of what was happening filled him with dread.

The short chains that were being attached to the rings meant that he could not move. If he moved the chains would pull on the rings and the rings would pull on his skin. If he moved too much the rings would be pulled from his skin, ripping his flesh as they did so.

If he was left like this for any length of time, he knew he would pass out either from the pain or fatigue. If he collapsed he would be ripped to shreds as he fell. He closed his eyes and wished he was anywhere else but here.

MMMM

The Musketeers were gathered closely, listening intently to Treville as he described his plan of attack. The intelligence the men had gathered during the morning had helped Treville work out how they were going to handle the situation. He knew the Comte would not be easy to arrest. He also knew they would be dealing with an unknown number of mercenaries. From what they had gathered there could be up to eighty men between the musketeers and the Comte. Men who knew their way around the Comte's estate and chateau.

Treville had decided an attack at night using the cover of the darkness was their best chance. They would approach unseen and attack en masse. Aramis was going to slip away as soon as he was able, to release Porthos. Treville would have liked to send two or three men with the marksman, but he knew that they could not be spared from dealing with the mercenaries. All the intelligence suggested that only one man would be guarding the dungeon. Treville had to hope this was true, he had given Aramis strict instructions to retreat if he was faced with more men. Getting himself hurt would not help Porthos. They hoped that Aramis and Porthos would be able to escape using the second door.

There were many unknowns, but Treville's hand had been forced when Porthos had been taken. They would not leave a man to an unknown fate, even if they were outnumbered by the Comte's mercenaries.

MMMM

As darkness fell they crept closer to the chateau. A couple of the musketeers had been on a reconnaissance of the estate and it had been decided that approaching from the west was the best option. There was a line of trees that provided cover and then a wall would hide them until they were a few meters from the main building.

There were sentries posted around the property, these were all dealt with swiftly and quietly. They knew the Comte would be expecting an attack, but they hoped he would not be expecting it so soon.

They knew from the few people who had been in the chateau and lived to tell the tale that the mercenaries all lived in the main building. The chateau was large and could easily house the men and still allow the Comte to live in luxury.

As they reached the chateau they spread out crouching down to keep out of sight as they passed the windows. The plan was to smash the windows and flood inside as quickly as possible. They had to use the element of surprise to their advantage.

Once they were in place, Athos moved a little way from the wall of the building so that most of the men could see him. He gave the signal.

As one, the musketeers attacked.

MMMM

D'Artagnan clambered through the window after the first few musketeers. He was towards the front of the house. They were in a large reception room. Grandly furnished, with a large mirror hanging over an impressive fireplace, the fire within burning well. But d'Artagnan did not have time to really take in the décor. His first job was to help Aramis work his way out of the room and into the hallway so that he could get down to the dungeon where they hoped he would easily be able to free Porthos.

They fought side by side, their swords clashing with two of the mercenaries. The men fighting them were skilled. They were clearly well trained and knew what they were doing. But d'Artagnan and Aramis were determined in their task. Gradually, they manoeuvred the pair they were fighting around until they had their backs to the open door.

Allowing the attackers to push them out of the room and into the impressive hallway, d'Artagnan glanced around. Skirmishes were occurring all around him, the fight in full force. He spotted the door which he knew would lead to the dungeon, he nodded towards it. Aramis acknowledged his friend and with a flourish finished off the man he was fighting. D'Artagnan managed a brief smile at his friend's theatrics as he too killed the man in front of him.

Aramis pulled the door open and peered through, he turned back to d'Artagnan and nodded his thanks before disappearing down towards the dungeon.

D'Artagnan had no time to reflect, he was fighting two more opponents straight away. There seemed to be a never-ending supply of men. All the musketeers nearby were fighting at least two men each. D'Artagnan wondered how the others were faring elsewhere in the chateau.

MMMM

Athos jumped down from the window sill of the rear room, the men ahead of him were running through a door. They had entered an empty room, this was not good, it meant their element of surprise was gone. He could hear swords clashing beyond the door. He rushed forward to join his comrades.

He emerged into a vast room, it had probably been designed to be a ball room. But now, with the Comte recruiting so many mercenaries, the room had become a dormitory. There were simple beds lining each wall, and a long table ran along the middle of the room. Half eaten meals scattered across the table were being knocked to the floor as musketeer met mercenary.

Two men rushed at Athos, he disposed of the first one with little effort, the second man had sized him up and was fighting hard. It was not long before another joined him and Athos had to split his attention between the two. He had to constantly adjust his position so that the two men could not gain the upper hand by moving to either side of him.

Around him he was aware of fierce fighting. Worryingly he noted more men were entering the room and replacing any that were incapacitated or killed. Athos was pleased to note in his brief look about the room that none of his fellow musketeers had fallen, yet. He hoped that state of affairs would continue.

MMMM

As the fighting continued, Athos got the impression they were winning. But it was taking a very long time. He had seen Treville a couple of times as he made his way across the ball room. They had managed to snatch a very brief conversation the second time they met.

Treville had said one word, 'Aramis?'

'Not yet…' replied Athos as he thrust forward and impaled a blonde-haired mercenary, 'taking too long.'

Treville had nodded. They had planned for the eventuality that Aramis would run into trouble and not be able to release Porthos easily. Treville moved off helping a couple of men to finish off their opponents on the way, the musketeers joining him as he worked his way out of the room.

Athos gave a shout to the musketeers left in the ball room. They moved together, forming up and allowing the mercenaries to regroup as they worked their way out of the room. Most of the musketeers kept the mercenaries busy whilst four men checked the way was clear as they left the room. It was not lost on the musketeers that the mercenaries could be coming at them from different directions.

By Athos' rough calculations they had taken out half of the expected mercenaries. But it had come at a cost of at least four of their own men. Athos had seen two men fall soon after Treville had left and as they were backing out of the room two more were picked off as the mercenaries managed to reload their weapons and fire indiscriminately at the retreating men.

Once they reached the hallway, Athos shouted again. The musketeers who had entered the Chateau from the front of the building rushed from the rooms they were fighting in. Athos was pleased to see the smaller group of men appeared to have fared better than his group. All but three of the musketeers were able to join up with the men working their way in formation back across the hall.

Athos caught a glimpse of d'Artagnan and two others fighting a group of six mercenaries. They were caught in a corner of the hallway, spilling into a smaller room.

There was nothing Athos could do to help his friend. He had to concentrate on the mercenaries' intent on taking him and his comrades out.

MMMM

D'Artagnan had a second objective. Once he had seen Aramis safely through the first room he was to find the Comte and arrest him. Aramis had described the small, stout man as best he could. But the description was limited. Although D'Artagnan was sure he would have no problem picking the man out from the mercenaries. The mercenaries were all big strong man, so far he had seen no one that fitted the Comte's description.

He was pinned in a smaller room with two other musketeers. Pierre, despite his earlier trepidation was holding his own against two men whilst Edet was being kept busy by another two big men. D'Artagnan had just managed to stab one of the two he was facing with his main gauche. The second man he fought had been distracted by his fellow mercenary's death and quickly followed him to his doom. Free of any opponents d'Artagnan was about to help Pierre when he noticed a small weedy man disappearing out of sight.

'Go!' yelled Edet, who must have spotted the stranger as well.

D'Artagnan nodded towards his comrades and ran after the man. He saw the slight man disappear through a door. Although he did not think this was the Comte, d'Artagnan was sure he was onto something.

He rushed through the door and found himself in the kitchens of the Chateau, clearly the Comte's need to have a dungeon below the building had led to a rearrangement of rooms.

A dull thud behind him caused him to turn quickly. The small man had slammed the door shut, he sneered at d'Artagnan before darting off out of the way. A scraping sound behind him had d'Artagnan turn again. The man he now faced was a little intimidating even for the trained soldier that d'Artagnan was.

The mercenary was big, he was bigger than Porthos, taller and broader. He was wielding a heavy looking sword. His scarred face was broken open by a menacing grin. Behind the giant of a man d'Artagnan could see the weedy man and another, who must be the Comte, watching on with interest.

D'Artagnan realised, if he was to get to the Comte he would have to go through the big mercenary first.

MMMM


	4. Chapter 4

Authors note: This chapter is shorter than the previous ones. You will see why at the end…bit of a cliffhanger.

Chapter Four

As Athos continued to rally his group of Musketeers he realised Aramis had still not reappeared. He hoped that Treville was able to help their friends from the outside of the Chateau. There had been no sign of the Comte, Athos new that d'Artagnan would be searching for the vile man, he had every faith in the young musketeer to find his quarry.

The now smaller group of musketeers were backing up in the hallway. They were taking out the mercenaries as they went. Athos had the men rotating frequently. This meant that fresh men were fighting the mercenaries as they tried to advance. Gradually the opponents were depleting. They were fairly evenly matched number wise now. Athos knew they would soon have the upper hand.

They had worked their way towards the door that Athos knew led to the dungeon. He had spotted Aramis disappearing through it earlier glimpsing the bare stone walls beyond. Athos pushed the door open and led the way down the stone steps. He found the body of the guard at the bottom of the steps, cleanly run through with a sword. It did not look like Aramis had needed to make much of an effort to deal with the man, a bottle of wine lay empty on the floor beside the body.

The door to the dungeon stood open. Athos and the musketeers worked their way through the door. The remaining mercenaries taking advantage of the stairs to make a final push. Two more musketeers were injured in the process, Athos managed to pull them out of the way. The two injured men were able to keep themselves standing, but were leaning against the dungeon walls and could play no further part in the fighting.

Athos shouted at the men to keep in formation as he returned to the front of the fight, taking out another mercenary. He counted at least five more mercenaries than he had musketeers to fight them. They were in danger of being overwhelmed. He redoubled his efforts and was rewarded with the disabling of two more mercenaries.

MMMM

Barbotin rounded the corner of the building and ran straight into a lone mercenary who was just as surprised as the musketeer. Barbotin recovered his wits first and punched the startled man hard to the jaw before he could draw a weapon. The man crashed, unconscious, to the ground in a heap. Treville grabbed the fallen man by the arms and helped Barbotin haul him out of the way of the outside entrance to the dungeon.

'It's supposed to only open from the inside…'said Treville as he felt along its hinges with his gloved hand. He leant on the door with his shoulder pressed to it using his body weight to see how strong the door was.

'We need a battering ram, something sold to hit it with,' said Hamon looking around, as if expecting to find what he needed lying helpfully nearby.

'Over there,' said Barbotin, pointing towards a barn before heading in the direction he had pointed.

Treville and Hamon followed him. A pile of cut logs was pushed up against the side of the barn. Barbotin selected a stout uncut log and with Hamon's help lifted it and carried it back to the door.

MMMM

They had been fighting for a few minutes now. The big mercenary was bringing his sword about in long cleaving strikes. He was not as quick as d'Artagnan who was able to dance out of the way with ease, but the sheer size of the man made it difficult for the young musketeer to make any kind of offensive move. Each time he tried to attack, the man was able to block him with his parrying dagger, which could have been a smaller sword due to its size.

D'Artagnan managed to glance around himself. He would have to use his surrounding to his advantage. His opponent needed space to swing his heavy sword, there were areas of the kitchen that would prevent him from doing so. This was where d'Artagnan needed to manoeuvre the man.

He feinted to the right and then thrust quickly to the left of the man, surprised when the move actually hit its target. The mercenary was enraged at being hit by the smaller man. He swung around, taking a couple of steps forward as he did so. D'Artagnan stepped back again, the mercenary pulled his sword back ready to bring it over his shoulder in a large arc, holding d'Artagnan off with his dagger. But the man had not looked up, surprising considering his size, and did not see the hanging storage rack, with herbs and spices arranged along it. The heavy sword hit the rack, pulling it from the ceiling. The man was distracted, which was what d'Artagnan needed.

A sharp jump forwards thrusting hard with his sword d'Artagnan pierced the man's chest just below the ribs. On a man of equal height to d'Artagnan he would have been hit in the heart, but this giant was hit in the gut. D'Artagnan twisted his sword as he pushed it in. The mercenary staggered back, the weight of his sword and the herb rack helping to topple the man backwards. D'Artagnan could not keep a grip on his own sword as the man fell, hard, to the floor.

The man was not dead, he trying to get up. Fortunately, for d'Artagnan, he still had a loaded gun, he wrenched it from his belt and fired at the big man, who crashed back down, this time he would not be getting up.

He stepped forward to try and release his sword, he heard a step behind him. Quickly turning, his main gauche raised he met a heavy cooking pot which smashed into the side of his head, leaving him seeing flashes of white. He stumbled back, disorientated.

MMMM

Athos found himself at the back of the fighting again, he looked around, looking to the door at the far end of the corridor. He hoped Treville had reached the outside. He knew the door only opened from the inside with a key, but it could be forced open from the outside. Aramis and Porthos, must have left the dungeon through the door by now, there was no sign of them in the barred cells along the corridor. There were two bodies further up the corridor, Athos wondered what had happened.

Before he went back to the fighting he was surprised to see movement at the door of the last cell. His friends emerged. He was shocked at the state of them. Porthos was naked and covered in blood, he appeared to have been cut multiple times all over his body. Aramis clearly had a bad wound to his side, he was pale and looked on the verge of collapse, they both did. Recovering his composure, he gesticulated towards the far door, he knew Aramis would have the key to open it, having taken it from the guard at the door.

He turned his attention back to the fighting. Two mercenaries were busy attacking one of the musketeers who has received a bad slice to his arm. Athos was quick to take out one of the men with his main gauche, the other was then easily dealt with by the injured musketeer. A brief nod of thanks from the injured man and Athos was back to the fighting.

MMMM

The door gave way on the third strike. Barbotin and Hamon were both shocked at the sight that greeted them as the door swung open. Aramis and Porthos were there, holding each other up, both clearly badly injured. The battering ram was dropped and the two grabbed their comrades before they collapsed.

Treville took one look at the state of them, he knew they would both need medical attention immediately, they could not wait.

'Barbotin, Hamon,' he said looking at the two men holding the injured musketeers up, 'get them to the barn for now, do what you can for them, I'll send help when I can…with luck we can treat them properly in the chateau when we've overcome the mercenaries.'

The two men nodded to their Captain and began to guide the barely conscious musketeers away from the building and to the relative calm of the barn.

MMMM

As he stumbled back into the wall d'Artagnan became aware of two men approaching him. His vision was blurred, his world spinning. One of the men grabbed his main gauche and prised it from uncooperative fingers. D'Artagnan tried to grab the man, but his arms were not doing what he wanted them to.

Another man grabbed his arm and between them the two dragged him across the smooth flagstones of the kitchen floor. D'Artagnan tried to get his legs under him, but could not make them work. He found himself in another room. The fuzziness of his sight meant he was seeing two of everything. He tried to blink and shake his head to clear his vision. It worked, briefly, he was aware of being pulled over towards a gaping hole in the floor.

Something in his mind, told him to get away from there. He made a desperate attempt to fight the men off him. But was met with only a chuckle from one of them as he was dropped to the ground. He was on the edge of the hole. He knew he did not want to go where the men clearly intended to send him. He tried to get up, managing to reach his knees, with his back to the hole, he looked at the men.

The short, stout one, looked him in the eye. D'Artagnan's vision cleared long enough for him to see evil in the beady eyes. The man pushed d'Artagnan backwards.

Arms flailing, he could not stop himself falling. He cried out in shock as he fell. He could not prevent it. He twisted to his side and tried to grab the lip of the sloping hole. It was not to be. He started to slide downwards.

Scrabbling at the stones he could not find anything to hold on to. His fingers cut and bleeding from the effort. He thought it odd, as he continued his journey that he should notice his fingers. His feet were over the entrance to the oubliette. D'Artagnan did not want to fall into it. He remembered what he had heard about the Comte's favourite punishment.

His legs were through, dangling as he made a last-ditch attempt to hold on, to anything. But there was nothing to hold onto.

He fell.

MMMM

Authors note: If you want to know what was happening between Aramis and Porthos in the dungeon you will need to read my other fan fiction: 'Rings', which I originally wrote as a standalone piece.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The last man fell at the blade of one of the newly commissioned musketeers. The rest of them looked on, most panting from the exertion, some bleeding from wounds the well-trained mercenaries had inflicted.

Athos knew there would be no time to rest, 'search the house, check for any who are still alive and secure them. Keep in groups, I do not want any of you being cornered alone.'

The men moved off, Athos stopped a couple, pointing out their injuries and shaking his head. The two men were not badly injured but would need their wounds seen to.

'Find a small room that we can use as an infirmary, get a fire going and gather any supplies you think we may need.'

Athos was thinking about Aramis and Porthos, he knew they would need to give them some immediate medical attention. He had seen the broken door at the end of the dungeon corridor and knew that they were, for now at least, safe, but they would be better off inside the chateau.

He was snapped out of his planning by a shout from the hall above. He hurriedly retraced his steps and climbed the stairs, feeling slightly fatigued from the long fight. As he emerged into the hall he saw three musketeers rushing out of the main door, he followed them.

The three had stopped at the steps leading out to the impressive front lawns of the chateau. Just disappearing out of sight were two horsemen galloping away.

'I think it was the Comte,' said one of the men, 'we weren't quick enough.'

Athos shook his head, annoyed. They had missed the man they had come to arrest. There was nothing to be done, they could not mount a pursuit in time to ascertain where the two escaping men had gone.

MMMM

Treville watched as both Porthos and Aramis were carried into the makeshift infirmary. The few other injured musketeers were corralled into the room. Barbotin had recruited the other men who he knew could deal with the wounds.

Athos appeared beside the Captain.

'We lost the Comte and one of his men…I'm sorry, there was no way we could catch him. We were too spread out when they made their escape.'

Treville nodded, 'a shame.'

'How many are wounded?'

'We lost two, several with minor injuries. Porthos has many superficial wounds, a few nasty injuries to his side…I cannot work out what happened to him. And Aramis has a bad wound to his side, he's lost a lot of blood. They both passed out when we got them out of the dungeon. I think Porthos will be OK, but I'm worried about Aramis.'

Athos crossed the room to where Barbotin was stitching the wound Aramis had received. It was deep and still oozing blood. The marksman was deathly pale and breathing very shallowly. Barbotin looked up as Athos approached with Treville just behind him.

'I'm not sure if we got to him in time.'

Treville rested his hand on the musketeer's shoulder, 'do what you can son, it's all that we ask…what about Porthos?'

Barbotin looked across at the still form of Porthos stretched out on one of the simple beds that had been moved into the room from the mercenaries' dormitory. They had covered him in clean sheets taken from one of the guest bedrooms on the upper floor.

'Most of the cuts are superficial. I think they are piercings…there are three wounds on his side that I dressed, I couldn't stitch them, but they're not bleeding much now…I can't even begin to work out what they did to him.'

'Keep an eye on them.'

'Captain?'

Treville turned as Pierre hurried up to him and Athos, 'yes Chevrier?'

'I haven't see d'Artagnan for a while, he went after the Comte when we were still fighting…I…wondered where he was?'

MMMM

Porthos opened his eyes. He was staring at an ornate ceiling. He groaned and turned his head. He was in a room of the Chateau. The last thing he remembered was stumbling out of the dungeon clinging onto Aramis, unsure who was holding who up.

'Don't move too much,' said Barbotin leaning over to put himself into Porthos' vision, 'you have injuries all over.'

'I'm aware…'

Barbotin smiled, 'here.'

The medic helped Porthos to sit up a little then handed him a cup of water keeping hold of the cup until he was certain Porthos would not drop it.

'Thank you…' Porthos looked over at Aramis lying on the bed next to him, Barbotin followed his gaze.

'I stitched him up as best I could…I hope he approves of my work…'

'But?' said Porthos worried when the man trailed off.

'He's lost a lot of blood. I think we can only wait and see…I'm sorry.'

Porthos sighed, 'he'll be fine…he always is.'

Barbotin moved off to see to the other injured men who were scattered about the room. None looked too badly injured. Porthos' gaze returned to Aramis, he wanted his friend to wake up, he looked so still, it was disconcerting.

MMMM

'Where were you when you last saw him?' asked Athos as he and Pierre worked their way through the rooms.

Bodies lay where they had fallen throughout the Chateau. The living mercenaries had been moved to one, room and were being guarded by a small band of musketeers as transport was arranged. The dead were slowly being collected and moved out of the building.

Athos and Pierre had been through all the rooms on the ground floor of the building. They had found no sign of d'Artagnan. They were making their way across the hallway again.

'We were pinned in that room,' replied Pierre pointing at the room where Athos remembered seeing them fighting earlier, 'then we saw a man disappear in there…we covered for d'Artagnan so that he could follow, but that was a long time ago now.'

They walked towards the room d'Artagnan had been seen entering. It was the kitchen. Pots and pans littered the floor along with the body of a big mercenary. Pierre stepped across and tugged d'Artagnan's sword from the man's stomach. He held it up so that Athos could see. They looked about them, d'Artagnan's main gauche lay discarded a few feet from the body of the mercenary.

Pierre wandered over to a doorway leading into an empty room, he paused on the threshold. Athos noticed the young man shudder and walked up beside him.

'You don't think…'

They were looking at the sloping mouth of the Comte's infamous oubliette.

'Find Treville and some ropes.'

Pierre did not need asking twice.

MMMM

Treville took up the strain on the rope, he nodded to Athos as he leaned back and slowly edged down the sloping wall of the oubliette.

Treville checked over his shoulder and saw that Pierre and Hamon were firmly bracing themselves ready to take Athos's weight when he reached the entrance to the underground cell. Treville did not particularly want to find d'Artagnan in the oubliette, but there had been no sign of him anywhere else. And the evidence of his participation in the fight in the kitchen led them to believe the young musketeer may have been cruelly imprisoned by the Comte.

'Slowly,' said Treville as Athos reached the lip of the hole.

They slowly allowed him to lean back and peer down into the cell. It was obvious by his reaction, d'Artagnan had been thrown into the oubliette.

'Lower me down…he's lying on his side down there…not moving.'

Treville nodded grimly. He allowed Athos to descend into the oubliette.

'What can you see?'

'Bodies…'Athos called back, 'it looks like the victims have survived the fall and crawled to the edges of the cell…I can make out at least six men down here.'

The rope slackened as Athos reached the floor of the cell. Treville could make out Athos speaking softly, he was obviously trying to rouse d'Artagnan.

'He's alive,' the swordsman said, his voice slightly muffled, 'I think his ankles is broken, he's concussed…bruised…but not as bad as it could be…I've tied the rope around him, but you will have to pull us both up together. I need to keep hold of him.'

'OK. We're ready.'

'Pull us up.'

The added weight made it harder work, but the three of them valiantly worked together. Soon enough Athos and d'Artagnan appeared through the entrance to the cell, Athos managed to reach out a hand to steady them on the edge of the hole.

Two more musketeers had appeared in the room. One of them knelt by the slope whilst the other held him by his belt so that he could lean out and grab d'Artagnan when he was within reach. With little grace and a lot of scrabbling at the sloping stone walls they manhandled the injured d'Artagnan out of the oubliette.

'Thank you,' mumbled d'Artagnan in a moment of clarity. He had been in and out of consciousness since Athos had reached him.

'Get him to Barbotin, we need to get his ankle set,' said Athos as Treville helped him to his feet. Pierre and Hamon helped carry the injured man out of the room.

'Do you think he was conscious when they threw him down there?' asked Athos as he dusted himself off.

'I hope not,' replied Treville as they followed their men from the room.

MMMM

Authors note: Sorry about the lack of a cliff hanger. There will be one tomorrow.


	6. Chapter 6

Authors note: Bit longer, and yes there is a cliff hanger.

Chapter Six

Porthos was sat in one of the Comte's carts. The musketeers had liberated two to carry their injured comrades back to Paris. The covered cart was rattling along and Porthos watched sympathetically as d'Artagnan winced whenever the wheels hit a particularly bumpy patch of road.

'You could have stayed behind for another day,' said Porthos.

D'Artagnan blinked a few times before replying, 'I didn't really want to stay there any longer.'

Porthos nodded, he knew what had happened to the young musketeer and had watched him suffer a restless night, despite his obvious concussion. Athos had sat with him throughout and on one occasion had to physically stop the injured man from falling out of his bed as he struggled against some unseen foe.

'It was horrible,' said d'Artagnan quietly with a faraway look in his eyes, 'I couldn't stop myself from falling in there, it felt so slow…I wish the bang on my head had made me forget the fall.'

Porthos rested his hand on the young man's leg, 'I know how you feel.'

'Sorry, I keep forgetting what you went through. My ordeal only lasted a few minutes, you were assaulted for hours and then left there.'

'If Aramis hadn't arrived when he did…I would have collapsed…' Porthos looked across at the still form of his friend. Aramis had still not stirred.

'I'm sure he'll be fine. He doesn't look as pale as yesterday.'

'I know, I'm hopeful…you should try to sleep some more. I'll be here.'

D'Artagnan nodded and leaned back against the side of the cart, he closed his eyes and appeared to sleep. Porthos wished he could sleep, but each time he closed his eyes all he could see was the Comte's satisfied expression when he had finished attaching the last chain to the last ring and stepping back to look at him.

Porthos was glad he had his friends around him. He knew that if he had been left in that cell, if he had not died from his injuries he might have gone mad. The pain and the terror he had felt was almost overwhelming.

He looked across to Aramis who stirred a little. Porthos grabbed the water skin and shuffled across to him.

'Aramis?' he said quietly, not wanting to wake d'Artagnan.

The marksman did not open his eyes, but he appeared to be conscious.

'You need to drink.'

Aramis was not completely awake, but he moved again slightly. Porthos lifted his head up and held the water skin to his lips. He was pleased when his friend managed to drink a little. Porthos gently lowered Aramis' head back down, brushing a few stray hairs away from his friend's face. He smiled for the first time since he had been taken by the Comte.

MMMM

The ride back to Paris had been tiring for them all. Despondent that their man had escaped, the musketeers returned to the garrison. Amid the crowd of men Athos found Treville.

'I've sent for Lemay, if it is OK, I will stay with them until he arrives?'

'Of course. I'll report to the Palace. The King will no doubt be furious that we have failed. We can regroup later.'

Treville dismissed him and headed up to his rooms. Athos crossed the garrison training ground to the infirmary. He knew only d'Artagnan, Porthos and Aramis would be there. The other injured musketeers were well enough to be allowed back to their own rooms.

As he reached the door he heard hurried footsteps behind him, he turned to see Lemay catching up with him.

'I really should just come and live here,' said Lemay as Athos held the door open for him to enter, 'all I seem to do it patch you four up. The King is nothing compared to you.'

Athos allowed a small smile as he entered the room. Aramis lay on a bed to his left, Porthos was sat on one next to the unconscious marksman and d'Artagnan, who had passed out again was lying on a bed to his right.

Lemay crossed the room to d'Artagnan and examined his ankle, he looked up at Barbotin who was still hovering near-by.

'I think you have done a fine job…tell me how they each fare?'

As Barbotin filled Lemay in on the assortment of injuries the three had Athos moved across to sit on the bed next to Porthos, who had found himself a job cleaning Aramis hands. In the hurry to deal with his more obvious wound his bloody fingers had been forgotten.

'He cut them when he was getting the rings off me…some of them were rusty,' said Porthos as he gently wiped away the crusted blood from his friend's fingers, 'he kept going even after the fight, I didn't know how badly injured he was…'

'You were in no position to do anything about it,' said Athos, trying to reassure Porthos who was in danger of becoming unusually maudlin.

'When he pulled the last of the rings out, he looked so guilty…having to hurt me…'

'He had to, and you know it…you said he came around briefly on the way back…he is pretty much back to his normal colouring…he is getting better.'

Porthos nodded as he finished his ministrations. Athos took the small bowl of water from him as Lemay walked across.

'D'Artagnan just needs time, the ankle will heal in a few weeks'. His concussion already appears to be better from what Barbotin has said.'

Lemay crouched down beside Aramis and after pushing aside the blanket began cutting the bandage off his still body. Athos watched as Lemay checked the stitches to the nasty sword wound. Lemay smiled and looked across to Barbotin.

'He taught you well, I don't think I could have done a much better job myself.'

Barbotin smiled, 'thank you.'

'I think we can manage without you Clemont,' said Athos, 'go and get some sleep, you have been up for hours.'

Barbotin nodded his thanks and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

'Now, Porthos, I need to check your wounds and they will need to be cleaned.'

Porthos sighed as Athos rose from the bed and went to collect the items Lemay and he would need to clean up the multiple wounds that covered his friends body.

MMMM

Athos had wandered over to d'Artagnan who had woken up again. Lemay stayed, perched on the edge of Porthos' bed as he finished cleaning the wounds on the big musketeer legs.

'If you need to talk about what happened you should…' said Lemay, pausing and looking up at Porthos, 'not to me…unless you want to…but one of your friends.'

Lemay glanced around the room at each of the musketeers. Porthos nodded. He had already spoken a little to both d'Artagnan, when he had been awake, and Athos.

'I have no intention of bottling it up…I think the thing that makes it easier it that Vietto is clearly insane.'

Lemay smiled, 'from what I have heard I agree. He is, apparently, very proud of his oubliette. The Baron said that he would boast about it being his ultimate deterrent...d'Artagnan was very lucky.'

'I was lucky…if the attack had been much later, or Aramis slower in removing the rings and chains…'

'Try not to dwell on it,' said Lemay as he finished his work, 'there, I know you are finding moving around fairly easy, but I would rather you stay in the infirmary for now, I do not want the wounds to become dirty and infected.'

Porthos nodded. He did not want to leave the infirmary until Aramis was on the way to recovery anyway.

Lemay packed his medical instruments away and after another check on the marksman walked across to the door.

'I'll return in the morning to check on you all.'

'Thank you, doctor,' said Athos. D'Artagnan nodded his thanks as Lemay left the room.

Porthos leaned back on his bed for a few moments. As Aramis stirred he sat back up and swung his legs off the bed again, he eased himself into a chair between their beds to watch his friend.

MMMM

'You'll pull the stitches, keep still,' said Porthos. Athos watched as Porthos was about to help the marksman sit up.

'And you will reopen your own wounds if you overexert yourself,' he said sternly making his way across the infirmary.

Porthos rolled his eyes, but sat back again. Athos gave Porthos a warning stare as he helped Aramis to sit up.

'It took a long time to clean and dress all of your wounds, I do not want to deal with you getting an infection as well.'

'What happened?' Aramis asked as Athos poured him some water.

'The Comte had more men than we realised, it took us longer to defeat them. The last few managed to pin some of us on the stairs down to the dungeon. We held them off for as long as possible, to give you time to get Porthos out…I was honestly surprised to see the two of you still there when we were being forced back along the corridor.'

'It took…longer to free him,' Aramis looked at Porthos, 'than I think anyone could have envisioned.'

'And under difficult circumstances,' said Athos, 'I'm not sure how you carried on, didn't you know how badly injured you were? You lost a lot of blood…we were worried you would not make it for a while.'

Aramis frowned, then looked back at Porthos, 'I had a job to do.'

'And I thank you for it,' replied Porthos.

'Rest,' said Athos as he turned to leave, 'both of you.'

Athos returned to d'Artagnan's side. The young musketeer was watching the exchange. It was clear that Aramis would probably fall asleep, he was obviously still very weak. Athos and Porthos had decided not to tell Aramis that the Comte had escaped or what had happened to d'Artagnan until he was stronger. They knew the marksman would be wanting to help before he was truly able, so denying him all the details was better for him.

Sure enough a few minutes later and the recovering Aramis was asleep. Porthos moved back to lying on his bed, satisfied that Aramis was getting better. Athos watched as the big musketeer settled back and finally fell asleep himself, although Athos was unsure how soundly his friend would sleep.

'Will he be alright?' asked d'Artagnan quietly, indicating Porthos.

'Yes, he won't bottle it up. He's already talked a bit. You two should both talk about it.'

'We have, a bit…' said d'Artagnan stifling a yawn.

'I'll leave you alone,' said Athos sensing he was not needed in a room of three sleeping men. He realised he could do with a break himself. He walked across to one of the spare beds and stretched out, within minutes he too was asleep.

MMMM

Aramis had been awake for some time. When he had realised his three friends were all soundly asleep he had decided to remain where he was so as not to disturb them. Having been unconscious and sleeping for some time he now found himself wide awake. And a bit hungry. But he knew he would need help getting food so contented himself to the water by his bed.

Fighting back a whimper he managed to push himself into a sitting position. His side screamed with pain at the movement, but after a couple of minutes he managed to calm his breathing and reach out a shaking hand to the cup of water by his bed. He drank the cool liquid greedily. He knew he had lost a lot of blood and needed to replace the fluids.

Something caught his eye across the room. D'Artagnan was moving. He was not awake, but he seemed to be in distress. Aramis wondered what had happened to d'Artagnan. He must have been injured during the fighting in the Chateau. His ankle was splinted. An odd injury to obtain during the battle, perhaps he had fallen?

Regardless of the cause of his injuries the young man was clearly in distress. With the others sleeping soundly Aramis realised he was the only one who could offer comfort. He did not want to wake the others as they were clearly both exhausted, and needed their own rest.

Slowly Aramis swung his legs off the bed. He took a steadying breath then hauled himself upright. The stitches pulled slightly but by breathing shallowly he kept the pain at bay. He padded around the bed where Porthos lay and crossed the gap between his bed and d'Artagnan's.

The injured man was still moving about, he seemed to be trying to grab at something above him. He was moaning quietly.

'D'Artagnan.'

The musketeer did not respond, Aramis slowly lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed. He reached out and gently took hold of the dreaming man's shoulders. For some reason, this seemed to make the dream worse for d'Artagnan who thrashed about pushing at Aramis.

'D'Artagnan, calm down, it's OK…you're safe,' said Aramis a little more firmly.

His words did not placate the confused man, he pushed out at Aramis who, in his still weakened state could not prevent himself being knocked backwards. He fell awkwardly to the floor, unable to hold in the yelp of pain as he hit the ground. He looked down at the bandage around him and realised at least some of the stitches had been pulled as blood began to stain the white of the fabric.

He looked up at d'Artagnan who must have been awoken by his cry of pain.

'What happened?' d'Artagnan said, obviously confused.

MMMM

'Why didn't you wake me?' asked Athos as he crouched next to the panting marksman.

'You were…sleeping…I thought I could help…'

'Well you did not,' admonished Athos.

Porthos was on his other side propping him up. He looked at Athos and rolled his eyes.

'I keep saying he needs tetherin' when he's injured or sick.'

Aramis managed a chuckle between breaths. D'Artagnan was looking on worried.

'I'm sorry, I didn't…'

'You've nothing to apologies for…he brought this on himself,' said Porthos firmly.

Between them Porthos and Athos helped Aramis up onto Porthos bed. Porthos manoeuvred himself to sit behind the marksman, who leant back on him without complaint, any energy he had depleted again. Athos cut of the bandages and assessed the damage.

'It could be worse,' he said, eyeing the contrite looking marksman.

Athos busied himself collecting what he needed to restitch the wound. Porthos held Aramis firmly, now that he was conscious it would not be as easy a job to put the stitches in.

Athos glanced up at Aramis and Porthos who nodded. Aramis tried not to react to the stiches but could not help himself. Porthos held onto his arms to prevent him interfering. The marksman was panting and sweating by the time the last stich had been replaced. He had not passed out but was not far off.

'Can you manage a drink?' asked Athos.

Aramis nodded and tried to reach out to take the cup from Athos, but his hands were shaking too much. Porthos smirked.

'Let me help you, you idiot,' said Porthos shaking his head. He took the cup from Athos and held it to his friend's lips.

A knock on the infirmary door drew their attention.

'Yes?' said Athos raising his voice.

When the door did not open he sighed and stood up crossing to the door.

'Probably some terrified cadet,' said Porthos quietly, making Aramis chuckle and wince at the movement.

Athos opened the door and almost immediately staggered back crashing to the floor unconscious. The other three stared in shook as the Comte and one of his men entered the room.

MMMM


	7. Chapter 7

Authors note: Last chapter. Thanks for all the reviews, follows and favourites.

Chapter Seven

The small weedy man had a gun trained on Porthos and Aramis who were both still sat on Porthos' bed. The Comte was glaring at d'Artagnan a dagger in his hand.

'No,' said the small man as Porthos made to speak, 'you make a noise, you die.'

Aramis noticed that d'Artagnan had paled and despite his injury had moved away as far as he could. He was also aware of Porthos stiffening behind him, either with anger or fear, Aramis could not tell. He wondered if the Comte was responsible for d'Artagnan's injury as well as Porthos'.

'No one has ever escaped my oubliette. You were supposed to die down there,' the Comte said as he stared at d'Artagnan, who had regained his composure a little and was glaring back.

Aramis, who was thinking clearly for the first time since he had regained consciousness, realised d'Artagnan was the one in danger. He did not know the full details of what had happened at the Chateau but it was clear the Comte was a threat to the young man. He was in no shape to assist his friend, due to his injury and Athos remained unconscious, sprawled across the floor. That left Porthos, who, although sporting many injuries was the most mobile of them at the present time.

But, for Porthos to help they needed a distraction, and Aramis realised he was the one who had to make it.

He scrambled up and lunged at the weedy little man with the gun. Of course, the man fired the gun, but Aramis hoped the shot would miss its target. It did not. Pain radiated out from his left arm and he collapsed to the floor, landing on Athos' still form. The stitches in his side ripping as he fell.

MMMM

The Comte was moving towards d'Artagnan who had nothing to defend himself with. Only Athos was armed and he was lying unconscious on the floor. D'Artagnan was watching the Comte closely. Porthos knew he had to do something, but what? Then Aramis did the only thing he could do, he moved to distract the man with the gun. The gun shot made the Comte stop and turn. Aramis fell to the floor with a fresh wound to his arm. A lighting assessment of the injury told Porthos that, although bad, would not prove fatal, and could be left untreated for a little while, he could concentrate on helping d'Artagnan.

Porthos moved quickly, he grabbed the small man and threw him bodily to the floor, leaving him stunned. He then tried to reach the Comte before the Comte reached d'Artagnan. He was not quick enough. A struggle between d'Artagnan and the Comte was already in place. Although the Comte was clearly not a fit man, he was in better health than d'Artagnan. The man had managed to pin d'Artagnan back down onto the bed and was trying to thrust his dagger into the young man's chest. D'Artagnan was using one hand to try to push the Comte away and the other was wrapped around the Comte's hand in an attempt to deflect the dagger.

Porthos grabbed the Comte from behind. But the man was stronger than he looked, perhaps through determination, and Porthos found himself struggling to pull him away.

They all paused when a second gunshot sounded.

MMMM

D'Artagnan was not in a good position to be dealing with the attack, although he did not think any position was good for dealing with a crazed man with a dagger. The man was clearly deranged, his eyes were wild with fury. Surviving his plunge into the oubliette had clearly upset the evil man.

Under normal circumstances, fending off an older man with a dagger would probably be relatively easy, but he was weak and in pain and lying on his back. When Porthos loomed into sight above the Comte, d'Artagnan was relieved. But he quickly realised the Comte was determined and Porthos was not having an easy time trying to remove the danger. Porthos was carrying his own injuries and was not at his usual strength.

The gunshot made them all pause. Something fell to the floor behind Porthos.

D'Artagnan managed to move the Comte's hand away from him as Porthos, using the distraction, finally managed to whirl the man around and shoved him away, into the wall of the infirmary. The man stumbled back, dropping the dagger to the floor as he fell.

D'Artagnan looked across the room and saw a very pale and panting Aramis lying awkwardly on the floor, Athos' guns still in his hand. At Porthos' feet lay the man who had been with the Comte, a knife still clutched in his dead hand. D'Artagnan realised the man had been trying to stab Porthos and Aramis had managed to shoot him.

Movement by the wall made him look towards the Comte who was trying to regain his footing. A scrape of metal and movement from Aramis drew d'Artagnan's attention back. The marksman had managed to wrangle Athos' sword from his belt and held it up with a very shaky hand to Porthos.

Porthos took the sword and turned back to the Comte threateningly, although d'Artagnan detected a shake in the big musketeer's arm. The action of the last few minutes taking its toll on the still injured man.

MMMM

The door to the infirmary burst open, Treville, sword drawn, rushed in, several musketeers in tow. He stopped, stunned as he took in the room and the positions of the various men within.

Porthos was standing in the middle of the room a sword held out in front of him pointing at the Comte who was huddled by the wall. At Porthos' feet lay the body of what Treville guessed was one of the Comte's men.

D'Artagnan was sat up in his bed, he was panting and dishevelled, he looked shocked.

Athos was flat on his back, apparently unconscious on the floor. Aramis was lying across Athos' legs blinking hard and breathing quickly, clutching his bleeding side with his bleeding arm.

Treville realised he had not moved for a few seconds as he took in the scene before him. He quickly stepped forward and brought his own sword up to point at the Comte reliving Porthos, who took a couple of stumbling steps and sat heavily on the edge of d'Artagnan's bed.

'Get him out of here, straight to the Chatelet…I want two men guarding him at all times,' Treville barked at the men who had followed him into the infirmary.

The Comte was bundled out of the room. The body of the other man quickly followed. Treville turned back to the others. Porthos had recovered enough to move to Aramis' side. The marksman was barely conscious, his stitches had clearly been pulled by the recent activity. Treville helped Porthos to move Aramis back to his bed. The injured man had passed out by the time they had laid him down.

MMMM

Athos groaned and slowly opened his eyes. D'Artagnan smiled at him.

'What happened?'

It took d'Artagnan a few minutes to fill Athos in on what had happened after he opened the door and was knocked out by the hilt of the Comte's sword. He looked over to Aramis' bed, Porthos was stitching the wound on his arm whilst Lemay was dealing with the sword wound. The pale, unconscious marksman oblivious to the ministrations.

'Is this a record for him, getting the same injury tended to by three people?' asked d'Artagnan.

'Probably,' said Athos as d'Artagnan helped him to sit up.

Athos looked across to the door as Treville pushed it open. The Captain nodded a greeting as he entered.

'The King, is pleased that we now have the Comte in custody. He even had no issue with me sending him straight to the Chatelet,' he said as he cast an eye over his men, assessing their various states of health.

'What about his tenants?' asked d'Artagnan.

'Baron Doubey, will take them on. He asked me to pass on his thanks to you for capturing the Comte.'

'He came to us, we didn't capture 'im,' said Porthos as he finished the last stitch on Aramis' arm, 'how did he get in here anyway?'

'I believe he slipped in when we returned. They must have been hiding, waiting for an opportunity to get in here when there were fewer people around,' replied Treville, 'I think the King intends to use his position to get the man hanged very soon.'

'Hanged?' asked Athos, 'not a befitting execution for a nobleman.'

'By the time he is hanged the Comte will no longer be a Comte, he will have been stripped of his title. The King will make sure it happens, he can be…persuasive…when he needs to be.'

'Or he'll throw a tantrum until he gets 'is way,' muttered Porthos.

'More than likely,' said Treville with a slight smile.

MMMM

A few weeks later…

Quite a crowd had gathered. The day was pleasant, warm with a clear sky. Hangings always drew a crowd, but word had been spread that this was a little different. The man to be hanged was of noble birth. D'Artagnan found it distasteful, that people would flock to see someone die.

He was still walking with a stick, his ankle not fully healed. Athos walked next to him, with purpose. Aramis and Porthos walked behind talking quietly.

'You do not have to witness the execution,' said Athos.

'I know, but I want to be reassured that he's gone.'

'Have you been sleeping better?' asked Athos, who had not seen much of them for the last few days.

'Yes, the dreams have stopped, I think Porthos had a harder time, he didn't want to admit it, but he struggled to get to sleep to start with.'

D'Artagnan glanced back at the two behind them. After the Comte had been captured Porthos had spent several days unable to sleep until, finally exhausted, he had passed out on the bed next to Aramis'. He had slept solidly for a day. When he awoke Aramis, who had slowly recovered from his own injuries, had patiently listened when Porthos talked about the torture he had endured. D'Artagnan still believed he had been the lucky one of the two of them, although horrific, his torture had lasted seconds, Porthos' had lasted for hours.

They found a spot towards the back of the crowd and watched as the guards brought their prisoner forward. The Comte, was dressed smartly, he clearly still thought of himself as a nobleman. He walked nonchalantly towards the gallows, and took each step slowly, drawing out the time he had left.

D'Artagnan glanced to his right, Porthos, his face hard with repressed emotion was shaking slightly. Aramis had reached his arm across the big musketeers back and rested his hand on his friend's shoulder, a sign of solidarity. Porthos took a deep breath and nodded to Aramis who smiled reassuringly.

Athos' did the same to d'Artagnan who had not realised that he too was shaking. He hoped that knowing the man who had tortured them, and been a tyrant to his people, was dead would help him to put the whole affair behind him. Even though he was almost fully recovered physically and he was sleeping now, there was still the nagging doubt that the man was still out there.

But that was about to change.

The noose was slipped over the Comte's head, the priest finished a prayer and made the sign of the cross. The hangman performed his task, the crowd cheered.

Vietto was dead.

D'Artagnan let out a breath, he turned with the others and walked silently away.

The End


End file.
